


Instinct || Bokuaka

by UnicornFlowers (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, UwU Akaashi misses his spiker, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/UnicornFlowers
Summary: You can't outrun instinct.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 3
Kudos: 140





	Instinct || Bokuaka

♡♢

Keiji Akaashi didn't even really process the loss of his wing spiker until a hot afternoon in August. It was actually much to the rest of the team's dismay how well he was taking it. You'd think that with Bokuto having been away at college for months now, the setter would've broken down, or been even slightly upset, or at least had one off-day. 

But no, he was perfectly fine. It was business as usual, Akaashi was still Akaashi. He wasn't upset, he wasn't off, he played just as he always would. The few times Bokuto had actually called (between his busy class schedule and difficulties being a functioning adult without his setter close by, he barely had any free time) the team actually had to make shit up to make him feel better about his absence. It might kill the poor guy if he knew how well Akaashi was doing without him.

But the real reason Akaashi showed almost no signs of even reacting to Bokuto's absence was much different than his teammates' theories that he was an emotionless robot that never cared about Bokuto in the first place. It wasn't so much that Akaashi didn't feel it, but that he was numb, like an extended form of shock. 

And he'd done his best to keep that numbness intact. He'd joined more clubs, even ones he took no interest in, just to keep his schedule filled, and he always stayed to practice late for the sole purpose of tiring himself out enough that he'd fall into a dreamless sleep the moment he got home. He made sure to spend every waking moment away from situations that would force him to think. Anything to keep his brain occupied. 

He overworked himself in a tactical way, a perfect balance to keep the beautiful illusion that he was fine from breaking down the middle. But nothing, not even something so well planned, can last forever. If it could, he wouldn't even be in this situation. If it could, he wouldn't even need to be numb. 

It was a hot August afternoon. It was muggy outside in a way that made the air-conditioned gymnasium feel like a godsend. The squeaking of sneakers on the shimmering court floor filled the entire place as cheers from respective schools cluttered the air and overtook Akaashi's thoughts. It was perfect. It was an adrenaline-fueled, split-second, blood-pumping sort of moment that left no room for over-thinking, no time for falling into the deep void of his mind. It was an ideal situation and Akaashi lived for it. He lived for the nothingness he felt in that moment. Nothing except instinct. 

But instinct would be his downfall. 

Because you couldn't out-train instinct. It was ingrained, ever-present and ever-lasting. No matter how hard you worked, instinct would bite you in the end. It wasn't something that was so easily outrun, unraveled, outdone. And it was instinct that he was left with when all room for conscious thought and dwelling on decisions was stripped away. It was instinct he was left with on the court. And it was instinct that told him to set the ball just slightly higher, a little more to the left. Because that's how his body knew how to do it. And Akaashi could've been trying to re-train his muscles for years, but he would never be able to erase the way the ball rolled off his fingertips. A serve tailored for a very specific spiker. 

You could almost hear the sound of a missed swing accompanied by the ball dropping dangerously to the floor. _Oh._ There was dead silence across the court, across the fans, something in between stunned and speechless, maybe an ugly amalgamation of the two. _That's right._ The new spiker was shorter. The new spiker had a lower jump. The new spiker was blond. The new spiker had blue eyes. So why was it that all Akaashi could picture when he imagined setting for him was stupidly styled hair and a pair of golden eyes? 

The first set ended in silence. It was such a simple set up, it was a guaranteed point. Fukurodani had it all at their fingertips. It was a perfect receive that should've been followed by a perfect set and a perfect spike. A perfect point. But instead, the match ended with a stunned hush falling over the crowd and the players alike, and the rush of air Akaashi should've taken in leaving him just as quickly. His breath was stolen and he couldn't seem to capture a single molecule of oxygen between his lips. 

The first set ended with his teammates patting him on the back as they exited the court, muttering reassurances despite each and every one of them- including Akaashi -knowing that should've been it. Knowing they should've won that. Knowing that set shouldn't have been so high. Because that's what teammates did. Even when you fucked up they had your back. But Akaashi just couldn't take that right now. He couldn't take them telling him to 'shake it off' that he'd 'get it next time.' 

The setter peeled away from his friends before ever reaching the locker room, choosing to use a more secluded bathroom in a wing of the school he knew would be abandoned. It would be harder to get back to the match when he was done, a longer walk, but he couldn't handle the casual chatter and the comforting words right now. He didn't want them because he didn't deserve them. 

He stood in the mirror of the bathroom with his shirt off, dripping sweat and suppressing the urge to put his fist through the mirror's glassy surface. He hated his reflection, it was just shame and disappointment. He wasn't good enough. Without his spiker he was nothing. 

His hands trembled as the overwhelming urge to cry overtook him. His eyes stung and his muscled arms shook as his hands gripped the edges of the sink so tightly his knuckles blanched. The game wasn't over, not by a long shot, but it might as well have been. It wasn't the same. It wasn't the same at all. It was lonely and cold and no matter how nice or talented the first year spiker was, he wasn't Akaashi's spiker. He couldn't be. And the setter knew he should love the game just for the sake of loving it. He knew that he should love playing just because he did, but it all suddenly felt so wrong. So empty. 

Because where was he? Where was the only person who would search the abandoned halls of Fukurodani for the setter who'd just fucked up the easiest set in the world? Where was the only person who would purposely make everything about himself just to take the spotlight off of Akaashi? Where was the person he was setting to in the first place and why wasn't he there-

"That's where you are! Damn, 'Kaashi, you really gotta tell people where you're running off to. The blond kid was freaking out. Thought he made you mad or somethin-" Akaashi felt like he couldn't breathe as he heard that voice. God that voice. It was rough but bright, like citrus, embedded with a special type of energy only one person in this world possessed. When did he get here? Why was he here? Was Akaashi hearing things? "'Kaashi, are you crying? You know, it wasn't that bad of a set-"

"Bokuto," Akaashi's body moved in a rushed fashion as he practically fell against his old spiker, arms tangling around his torso, hands fisting in Bokuto's t-shirt. And when Bokuto wrapped his strong arms around his best friend, whispering something soft that Akaashi couldn't make out, it felt like his world was falling into place. And that feeling hit him, the one where you don't realize just how badly you needed someone until you had them back. It hit Akaashi like a tidal wave, and suddenly he couldn't stop crying into Bokuto's chest. 

"Keiji, what's wrong?" It always broke the setter how soft Bokuto's voice got when he was concerned. His caring tone made his voice sound so fragile and Akaashi didn't realize until he was crying in the bathroom alone how much he needed that hushed whisper or the way Bokuto's thumb rubbed circular patterns into the small of his back. Akaashi barely had the words as they were clogged in his throat until they were suddenly pouring from his lips like a waterfall. 

"It was for you Koutarou, that set was for you," Akaashi sobbed softly, not wanting to be breaking down in front of his best friend but also unable to stop the flood of tears. It was just too easy for Akaashi to melt in Bokuto's arms, too easy for his cool demeanor to crack and give way to the tidal of emotion that swelled behind his dark eyes. "Where were you?" 

"Oh..." Bokuto's voice dropped into somewhat of a lighter tone, as if he completely understood the question that not even Akaashi understood. But that was Bokuto for you, he could completely misunderstand something and give you an answer anyway with a confident smile. Because that's just how he was. He was always so sure of himself in a way that Akaashi knew he himself would never be. That's why Akaashi needed him. "Yeah, I'm sorry 'bout that 'Kaashi. I was trying to get here early but Kuroo doesn't know how to drive and we had to pick up Kenma because he has to drag his boyfriend everywhere-"

"No." Akaashi stopped him short, the word clipped and strangled from his throat as he tried to take in a shaky breath that sounded more like a gasp. He gripped Bokuto so hard he was sure je was leaving bruises, but the taller boy didn't complain. He never did and he never would. Bokuto would endure lifetimes of pain for Keiji Akaashi. " _Where were you_?" 

"Keiji, what are you walking about?" Back again was Akaashi's first name, letting the setter know that the conversation had taken a serious turn. In their first year, Bokuto had seemed much to Akaashi like the kind of person that didn't physically possess the ability to be serious about much of anything. And if he was being completely honest, Akaashi had been worried. He'd been worried because he detested people who couldn't settle down and he was worried because how was he supposed to set to someone like that? 

But in reality, Bokuto took everything seriously. Behind his almost idiotically joyful mask was a heart that poured passion into everything he did. It didn't matter if it was an assignment or a game or a match or just helping someone out with something, Bokuto always gave his one hundred percent, his best effort, his complete and undivided attention. 

"You left me," Akaashi choked out against Bokuto's chest, his heart beating in his ears and his body shaking. He didn't know if it was because he was dehydrated, or maybe it was the tears, but he didn't really have to worry about it because Bokuto's arms held him close and safe and strong. 

That was the problem with numbness. It always got beat out by instinct. The tingling feeling that something isn't right even if everything is perfectly fine. The stomach-dropping dread that you're missing something important, a pivotal piece of your life you might never get back. No matter how numb you made yourself, no matter how strongly you pushed away all conscious thought, instinct would always be there pushing back. Sometimes it didn't push, though. Sometimes it crept in silently, ambushing you when you thought you were safe, better again. Sometimes it just loomed in the background, idly standing by as it waited for its chance to break you. But either way, it won. 

"Left you? And you always call me stupid," Akaashi was suddenly being pushed back, his back hitting the wall as Bokuto suddenly and forcefully crashed his lips against the shorter boy's. The kiss wasn't soft, it was rough and hard and intense and sickly sweet, but also salty like the tears resting on Akaashi's lips. It wasn't anything like Akaashi imagined his first kiss. It wasn't the gentle graze of lips followed by a magical silence and blushing and giggling and 'was that okay?' It was overwhelming and overstimulating and terrifying and perfect. 

And it hurt when Bokuto grazed his teeth against Akaashi's bottom lip, but the setter could only lean into it, opening his mouth so Bokuto could deepen the kiss. And Akaashi was almost grateful that it wasn't anything like he imagined because what he'd been expecting couldn't possibly be Bokuto. No. Bokuto was intense. He always was. He was intense and passionate and Akaashi could taste it on his tongue and on his lips. Perfect. 

And when they parted from each other, the air around them flooding Akaashi's lungs and making him feel euphorically light-headed, Bokuto whispered, "You're always gonna be _my setter_ ," Before pressing the softest, sweetest kiss to _his_ setter's lips. 

Because he was. Akaashi would always be Bokuto's setter. It didn't matter if they were an ocean away or playing on different courts. It didn't matter if Akaashi played with a different spiker. It didn't matter who they stood next to in a game. Akaashi would always be _Bokuto's_ setter. Because that instinct would always be there. And you can't outrun instinct. 

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆


End file.
